


To The Moon

by Verelia



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: ANGST ANGST TRAGEDY ANGST, Aka before the kids went to the future, Day 3: Beginnings / Journeys / Goodbyes, F/F, FE Rarepair Week, Grima robin, I'm sorry this is so angsty, bad timeline, pretty sure the next prompts will return to the usual fluff and happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-19 22:57:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15520533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verelia/pseuds/Verelia
Summary: Chrom, the Exalt, is murdered by Fyra, his dearest friend, and the world descends into chaos.  Fyra's former allies, as well as her wife, Panne, do all they can do stop the madness.  Despite their efforts, it is not enough.  Written for FE Rarepair Week, Day 3: Beginnings / Journeys / Goodbyes





	To The Moon

“You know nothing!” Panne spat.  “She would never--”

 

“Wouldn’t she?” Frederick snarled back.  “Our current predicament seems to suggest otherwise.”

 

“Stop it, both of you!”  Lissa’s voice cracked as she spoke, her cheeks still damp from seemingly ceaseless tears.  “They were friends, and they wouldn’t want us bickering like this! Come on, Frederick, you really think that stupid zealot’s telling the truth?”  She could hardly finish her sentence before she clapped a hand over her mouth, holding back a choked sob. Maribelle was quick to pull her into a hug, glaring at Frederick over Lissa’s shoulder.  

 

“My lady,” he began, his tone gentler, but still very tense, “we  _ all _ saw Fyra standing by that man’s side.”  Not a soul in the room missed the part he’d left unspoken: they all saw her drag in Chrom’s corpse and throw it at their feet, too.  

 

“We cannot discount the possibility that what she did, she did unwillingly.  There are ways to influence others with magic, to render their autonomy completely nonexistent.”  Miriel gazed at Frederick disapprovingly over her lenses. “Even a mage as skilled as Fyra could fall victim to such tactics.”

 

“This is bullshit,” Sully swore, “but the only way to know is to ask her, yeah?”

 

“How do you propose we find her?” Say’ri asked quietly.  “We are a losing army in a hostile land.” Tiki stood at her side, her head bowed.

 

“If the Grimleal are truly behind this… I may know a place.”  

 

All eyes turned to face the divine dragon.  

 

“The Dragon’s Table.  The journey there will be perilous, but… I see few other options.”

 

\---

 

“You’re right, you know.  Fyra would never do such a thing.”  Libra spoke quietly, in a soothing tone.  He was the first person who came to check on her, rather than to question her.  “The others are too blinded by their grief to see that you hurt just as much as they do.”

 

“For all the good it does any of us,” Panne scoffed.  “Grief does not return the dead.”

 

“You know that better than anyone, I’m sure.”  He put his hand on her shoulder. “But Fyra is not dead--you saw her there.  Whatever Validar’s purpose, he needs her alive. So we will get her back.”

 

Panne brushed away a tear with the back of her hand.  “Perhaps,” she sniffed, turning her gaze away from Libra.  His hand left her shoulder at the sound of approaching footsteps.  

 

The figure stopped at the entrance to her tent, lifting a flap inquisitively.

 

“Are you busy?”

 

Tharja’s voice grated on her sensitive ears.  No, she was not busy, but nor did she usually enjoy the presence of Fyra’s distant, lurking admirer.  

 

“I was just leaving,” Libra said, offering Panne a sympathetic nod and turning to walk in Tharja’s direction.  

 

Without a single word from Panne, Tharja seemed to take that as sufficient invitation, and stepped inside.  

 

“What do you want?” Panne asked once they were alone, making no effort toward politeness.

 

“Henry and I have been looking through every Plegian tome we could find.  So far, we’ve found little of use, except for…” 

 

Tharja sighed in frustration and started flipping through the book in her hands.  

 

After a moment of searching, Tharja turned the tome around.  Faded as the ink was, the symbol on the worn pages was familiar enough that Panne recognized it immediately.  She felt a wave of dread wrack her body as she gasped, her muscles tensing of their own volition. 

 

“Just like on her left hand, right?”  Tharja’s tone wasn’t particularly rude, but her words had Panne bristling nonetheless.  “I wasn’t sure if it was exactly the same, but I thought you’d know. Looks like my theory was correct.”

 

“What is it?” she snapped, trying to ignore the fact that Tharja knew the mark’s location on Fyra’s body.

 

“According to this text, the Grimleal call it the Mark of Defile.  It’s like the symbol on Chrom’s arm, but instead of Naga’s bloodline… it’s the fell dragon.”

 

“Grima.”  Panne could not hide the tremor in her voice, much as she tried.  

 

“That’s right.”  Tharja closed the book with a  _ crack _ that made Panne flinch.  She nearly rounded on her for her carelessness--or perhaps she’d done it on purpose--but Tharja paid her no mind.  Instead, her gaze was downcast, gripping the book with such force that her knuckles were white, her arms trembling.  “They think they can use her for their ritual. That bastard Validar thinks he’s won,” she spat. Finally she looked up at Panne again.  “But we aren’t going to let that happen, are we? Oh, the hexes I’ll set on him… We’re going to make him regret his very existence. Right?”  

 

Tharja’s gaze was intense, at once furious and desperate.  Panne matched her with a wicked grin.

 

“On this matter, at least, we are very much in agreement.”

 

\---

 

Her son was far too young to have any part in this war.  

 

With Gangrel’s death, they thought Ylisse would be a peaceful place--more than tranquil enough that they could raise a child there.  Once Miriel had figured out the details, she and Fyra had had a family. Despite one of his mothers being human, their child was as much as taguel as Panne.  She had taught him much of their people, but he still had a lifetime left to learn and grow. 

 

Fyra and Panne had done their best to give him every comfort, though it posed little challenge for renowned heroes.  He grew up alongside the Ylissean princess, Lucina, and the prince, Inigo, as well as the other Shepherds’ various children.  The bonds of their parents were forged in wartime, but this new generation had been blessed with peace. To see her taguel son cherished and loved by other children--human children--made Panne’s heart light with joy, and sparked within her renewed hope for the future.  

 

Now, as that peace crumbled before their eyes, she was not so sure that they had a future at all.  

 

“The taguel must live on,” she lied, as if her preservation had ever been her priority.  “I may fall here--you cannot go with me.” 

 

It broke her, to see the tears in Yarne’s eyes, the horror on his face as she mentioned her death.  His lower lip trembled as he spoke. 

 

“Mother.” A single word, and his voice had already cracked, tears now spilling freely down his cheeks.  “I thought you were bringing Mama back. That you--you were going to stop all this. Like before! They say you’re all heroes, right?  Just… do that again!”

 

Yes, she thought bitterly.  Heroes, the lot of them, yet completely helpless against Grima’s might.  

 

She would not let her son’s last memories of her be tainted with regrets.  

 

“Perhaps we will,” she comforted, pulling Yarne into an embrace so that he could not see her tears.  “But I cannot hope to fight if I have to worry about you, my dear. So you must go. Stay with your friends, and help keep them safe--I know they will do the same for you.”

 

Panne was reluctant to break the hug, but if she did not do so now, she feared she would never let him go.  Trying to listen to anything but his sniffling, she fished around in her bag for a moment, pulling out a shining beaststone that hadn’t yet been used.  A brilliant golden light emanated from within, and it was warm as she passed it over to him. 

 

“This--this one’s really bright.  Are you sure?”

 

“You know how to use it,” she assured.  Their years of training hadn’t been for naught.  “If you face danger… show these creatures the might of the taguel.”

 

Yarne clutched the stone to his chest, letting out a whimper before hugging his mother one last time.

 

“I’ll do my best,” he muttered into her hair.  After a while, he let her go to stand in front of her, staring up with determination.  “And I’ll be waiting for you and Mama.”

 

Panne cupped his cheeks into her hands and planted a gentle kiss on his forehead.  She placed a hand on his shoulder and stroked gently along one of his ears with the other.  

 

“We’ll be counting on it, Yarne.”

 

\---

 

To emulate Fyra’s strategies without her guidance was a poor plan, but it was all they had.  When their lines were broken, their officers isolated and picked off, her lack of surprise did nothing to quell her overwhelming fear.  

 

Panne had managed to fell the Risen in her immediate vicinity, and now she bounded through the corpse-strewn battlefield in search of her allies, trying not to look too closely at the fallen.

 

A distant scream drew her attention, and despite several open wounds, she increased her pace, wincing each time a paw sank into cold flesh in her haste.

 

“Panne!”

 

Olivia’s voice was hoarse, but full of relief.  Yet, so focused was she on Panne’s approach that she failed to notice the Risen preparing to strike behind her.

 

To Panne, there was only one choice.  She leapt into the air and managed to land between Olivia and the creature just in time.  

 

The lance was cold as it ripped into her flesh, staining her fur with warm, crimson trails.  

 

As the enemy struggled to tear the lance back out--its every movement causing her a new wave of agony--Olivia’s sword found purchase in its neck just as it wrenched its weapon free.

 

“Hold on!” cried Olivia, rushing to Panne’s side.

 

“We are not done,” Panne managed between painful breaths, jerking her head toward the other Risen around them.  “Ready yourself!”

 

She feared for a moment that Olivia might disregard it, but years of war had taken its toll on her as much as the rest of them.  “Alright,” she answered gravely, taking an offensive stance.

 

Despite the blood-- _ her _ blood--pooling on the ground, Panne helped slay the few remaining creatures.  The last one hit the ground just as she did. Olivia dropped her sword and came running, pressing her hands against the wound with little effect.

 

“Oh, Panne,” she breathed, desperation clear in her voice, “thank you.  Here, let me… um--”

 

Judging by the cough that halted her speech, Olivia was not the only one who had long since run out of salves and elixirs.  Now, Panne noticed the long gash in Olivia’s leg, and the blood-soaked cloth at her midsection; neither of them stood much of a chance.

 

Panne ceased her focus on the beaststone, and in a flash of light, resumed her human form.  She was colder like this, and weaker, too, but it hardly mattered now.

 

They lay on the ground, hand in hand, surrounded by corpses of friend and foe alike.

 

“Do you think… they’ll do it?” Olivia asked, her voice soft.

 

No, she did not.  But that was no way for her to speak to a dying friend.  She avoided answering the question, but her words were truthful all the same.

 

“I hope so.”

 

“Yeah… I guess that’s all we can do now, huh?”

 

“Mm.”  She hummed weakly in affirmation, though everything around her seemed very far away.  

 

Panne stared at the moon, cherishing the sight of her holy face unmarred by the ripples of a pond or the cloudy surface of a man-made mirror.  Her thoughts drifted to her mother, her brother, and the rest of her warren. For years, she had longed to return to them, but would not throw away her life after her kin had been robbed of theirs, much as she might have liked to, at times.  She thought too of Fyra, wherever she may have been. Panne had a feeling that their reunion was not far off.

 

After awhile, the sky above her began to blur, black spots dancing at the edges of her vision.  Olivia was speaking again, but no longer could Panne discern her words. Still, the hand in hers was warm, comforting.  Despite everything, she would not perish alone.

 

She had spent so many years alone, and even without Fyra here, Panne had found her home amongst the Shepherds.  It was a shame she would have to leave them so quickly. At the moon, she offered one final prayer, unable to chase the thought of a frightened Yarne from her mind.  If this world could not be kind to him, she hoped he would find solace in the next. 

  
  


The last thing Panne saw before the darkness took her was a six-winged shadow against a moonlit sky.  

 

_ Goodbye, my love.  May we meet again soon. _

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry this is so sad. I cried just THINKING about writing it today. It was really a Time TM. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoyed, and thank you for reading! The next prompts should be much happier, haha.


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